Shadows
by the.subverter
Summary: Samantha struggles to connect with the disquieting Commander Shepard.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Ah, I've been on hiatus. And for some reason or another, the other stories currently not updated... just don't feel right (what I've written) and as such are not up yet. This thing which I'm sure will be infrequently updated has like 30 pages of Shepard backstory. But I cut all of that out to focus on the Traynor stuff. There's some I.T. stuff hinted at in here. I really meant this story to be sort of a pickup of Severed but it ended up being a new thing after all. Sorry and bear with me and any delays in updating. This is a short intro, so far it's 20 some pages and unfinished. This is going to have some I.T. (indoctrination theory! break out the tinfoils!) stuff in it so if that sort of thing is not your cup of tea, apologies- you probably won't enjoy this.

* * *

Commander Shepard commands not only the Normandy but also the hearts of many of its crew. Everyone is too deeply buried in the Reaper War, the struggle of survival to act on anything that isn't a setback to the Reapers. But Samantha Traynor sees how Liara and Garrus look at Shepard when they don't think anyone's looking. She can see them because no one sees her. She's new to the Normandy and she isn't the kind of soldier Garrus or James are. She's R&D. She isn't expendable—she knows that. Neither does she have the magnetism of the men and women who have followed Shepard into hell before, who come back bruised and bleeding after a fight with Reapers monsters.

She'll hand anyone their ass in a game of chess. As things stand, firing a shot off on most weapons leaves her trigger finger aching for days. Bugger. Of all ships to get trapped on. Of all the people to develop a crush on. Shepard doesn't know she exists. Not more than in a perfunctory capacity.

It's best. Shepard is her commanding officer. It wouldn't be right. That's what she tells herself when she remembers she doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell with her.

The crews' muttering lifts her head. Shepard's back from a mission on a Cerberus base. She pulls her helmet off, hair matted to her face. She's sweaty and bleeding, seemingly unaware of it.

"Specialist," Shepard says in her typical acknowledging way. Samantha can't figure out if there's a shred of anything more than professional courtesy in her tone or if she's only spoken to her because she caught her staring.

"Commander. Ah, you're bleeding," Samantha sputters out, straightens. Liara absently stops Shepard in her tracks, bringing a hand to the commander's forehead and wiping the blood away. The red looks bright against her pale blue fingers. Shepard frowns, pulling Liara's hand away. Liara, usually icy and reserved, brings a hand to her forehead and then moves to the elevator. Kaidan follows.

Shepard looks at Samantha as if she's done something or hasn't done something or has pointed out something that shouldn't have been pointed out. Samantha's spine goes rigid again. "You ah… have some messages on your terminal. When you're… ready and…" Jesus. "Perhaps you should see Dr. Chakwas. Ma'am."

"Thanks for the advice." Shepard proceeds to ignore it, going to the messages terminal, eyes focused and dark. She pushes the hair back from her face, leaving crimson streaks, like claw marks, along her forehead.

* * *

Diana Allers wears her skintight leather dress, gleaming in the lights of Purgatory. She's had a queue of men and women eager to buy her drinks for the majority of the evening, a perk of being the only news reporter access to the Normandy and Commander Shepard.

"I can't remember the last time someone bought me a drink," Samantha leans into the bar, trying to get the attention of the salarian bartender, being pushed forward every now and then by rowdy soldiers. She grimaces.

"Don't act like no one is willing to buy you a drink, Samantha. I've seen men _and_ women ogling you tonight."

"Ogling you, you mean." She's lucky Diana's imaginary men haven't tried to buy her a drink. She'd feel awkward accepting, at making empty promises.

"The masses will always congregate around any celebrity, big or small." Diana snaps her fingers and gets the attention of the bartender. "A drink for my friend here," she says. She refuses the credits Samantha tries to give her and they move away from the bar, brushing past Shepard who heads towards it. Samantha tries, in vain, to think of a reason to go back. "Ah, maybe I should have let Shepard buy you a drink? Sorry, didn't mean to clit block you."

"The Commander doesn't know I exist," Samantha says. She looks back and sees Shepard resting her elbows on the bar, fingers massaging her forehead tenderly. "Do you think she's okay?"

"What?"

It's too damn loud here. "Commander Shepard—" Samantha raises her voice. "It must be a lot of pressure."

"She was on Mindoir and Akuze. And then she got blown up by the Collectors?" Diana smiles back in Shepard's direction and to Samantha. "Luckily for us, Shepard doesn't know how to die."

* * *

Electronic communication is erratic at best. It's easier on the Citadel. She becomes separated from Diana at some point in the night, having returned from getting herself a second drink to find her missing. She doesn't bother dancing; no one catches her interest. She takes the time to send the few personal emails that she can. She doesn't expect a response but she can try. She has friends on Earth, on Horizon.

She gets no response. She hopes she will in time. She waits for Diana until she gets tired of waiting. She has an early morning and any slipups in her work could mean spending the remainder of her youth, perpetually in the real afterlife, not a club where desperate people go to forget and in the hope of getting some ass.

She's on her way out when she spots the familiar asari to the far left and on the couch. Shepard is passed out next to her. Samantha and Aria's eyes meet. "This isn't my doing," she tells Samantha dismissively.

Samantha wonders if Shepard's all right. She walks closer, tentatively. Is she tired? Is she the asari's lover? A more depressing thought: is she drunk? The asari shifts, the movement enough to rouse Shepard who opens her eyes blearily. The lights: blues, reds, greens splash over Shepard's face before her sight settles on Samantha. Samantha stares helplessly then looks away as Shepard struggles to a sitting.

"I know that's where I'd settle down for a nap," Samantha says. Aria's eyes narrow on her. Samantha winces with embarrassment but she still can't look at Shepard.

"Funny," Shepard stands, her voice empty of any humor. Samantha smells the alcohol on her, rolling off of her in waves. How much alcohol does it take to make this particular Spectre blackout, Samantha wonders. She knows she can't ever ask, not her commanding officer. In fact, she shouldn't have seen this at all. "Finished staring, Specialist?"

She flushes. "Ah—yes, ma'am. Sorry, Commander. After a few I tend to forget my manners—and all sense of protocol, it would seem."

Shepard rubs her eyes, looks around as if in a daze, as if listening. Then, as if having forgotten a conversation was in progress, she leaves her and exits.

* * *

The vid shows Shepard charging through the air in a biotic rage. People say that vanguards are brutes.

Samantha thought only asari were capable of that kind of raw, biotic power. L5 implants are the latest thing but given Shepard's age she must have been an L2 or an L3 when she first received hers. The process of upgrading is said to be tremendously difficult. Sometimes bodies reject the newer technology.

Unless she was implanted with it when Cerberus rebuilt her. It is a curiosity Samantha will likely never get an answer to, like many of the questions she has about the commander. Those records aren't publically available. As it is, she feels somewhat perverted even watching the vid, hacked from a Cerberus camera. Shepard is coiled in blue tendrils of energy, shotgun at the ready, firing off, blowing the Cerberus soldier in front of her to pieces. Samantha zooms in on the vid, cleans the image until it's clear.

The blast of the shotgun is a flash of fire and power. Shepard's eyes are dark and lifeless.

* * *

James' nose is battered, a steady stream of blood runs down, over his split lip, dripping down his chin and onto his shirt. He's grinning. He calls it a dance. Samantha likes his dance partner but is fairly sure Shepard could knock her unconscious with one swing if James is any indication of what the commander can do outside of the battlefield.

"You know, if the Commander was a guy I'd tell them both to just whip it out and measure," Steve tells her, leaning against the crate Samantha sits on. They're not the only two-crew members in the shuttle bay. James and Shepard's sparring matches have become a ritual in the short time that the current Normandy crew has been together.

"Mh, I'm sure you'd like that," she jokes. Steve allows a small laugh but Samantha sees the distant sadness in his eyes and is sorry she made the joke. Apologizing would make it more awkward.

"And I'm sure you wouldn't."

"Either way, I think Commander Shepard has James beat."

"You're biased."

Samantha considers. "Maybe." Lieutenant Vega is a stellar example of manhood: all muscles and bravado, something of a flirt and one hell of a soldier. He might float her boat, if men were the type to float it but as is, she doesn't want one of his muscled hands on her deck. "But come on, Commander Shepard took out a Reaper _and_ the Collectors. On Horizon, even. I _have_ to be biased."

"All things considered…" he grunts. "I can't make heads or tails of her." They watch as one of her muscled arms reaches forward, connecting solidly with James' cheek. He's scowling now and at long last, Shepard has a smile on her face. "She's a good CO. Cares about her squad. I guess that should be enough. If anyone can get us through this, it's Shepard."

"Is she single?"

"Really, Sam?"

"A girl can be curious."

"So ask her."

"She's my commanding officer. I suppose I couldn't get you to pass her a note on one of your shuttle runs?"

Steve laughs. "You're the communications expert."

"It's hard to be expert at any communication when I get so damned tongue tied around her."

"Just don't let her hear that," Steve crosses his arms. "Or you'll never see the inside of the captain's quarters." He chuckles when she shoves him. "She's pretty down to earth. Just talk to her."

Samantha looks up to see James slam a fist into her stomach nearly doubling her over in the process. Samantha slides off the crate without meaning to, getting to a standing. The other crewmembers are split between cheering on James, cheering on Shepard or waiting with baited silence.

Shepard shouts, some unintelligible sound before lunging forward, arms at either side of James and tackling him to the floor. There's a loud smacking of his colossal body hitting the metallic floor. Shepard's fist, wrapped in pulsating blue power slams into his face once. Blood comes away, flying through the air, trailing her fist like an arc. Several crewmembers gasp.

Shepard's raising her fist again when she stops, fist poised above her, awareness settling uncomfortably on her. James lifts his arms, a ward. Shepard's fingers flatten. She breathes hoarsely and touches James' arms experimentally, his chest. He looks at her, groggily. For an instant, Shepard is the manifestation of panic. "You all right? Hey," she slaps his arm. He nods faintly.

Shepard rolls away from him. None of the soldiers look at James or Shepard but Samantha stares. Shepard looks around in a daze, squints, catches Samantha's eyes, seeing and not seeing. Steve moves away from Samantha to James but she's only peripherally aware. A line cuts through Shepard's forehead, burning. Shepard's voice is a whisper. "Do you hear that hum?"

Samantha doesn't hear anything.


	2. Chapter 2

A/n: Slowly uploading in chunks. Thanks for the reviews everyone. I'm slowly going through this and editing.

* * *

Samantha sets the cup of tea down in front of Shepard. It's 2:47am and the commander hasn't moved from the mess hall table she's been sitting at for hours. She wears her hoodie, leaning back into the rigid chair. Her hair was wet before but not anymore. "It'll help you get to sleep," Samantha says.

Shepard smiles wryly. "I have a conference call with Admiral Hackett at 05:00 hours." She nods at chair across from her. Samantha looks at the chair, at her invitation. She's knackered but how often does the commander ask her to take a seat? She sits. "Can't sleep?" Shepard asks. Samantha gives a small shake of her head. "I used to say 'I'll sleep when I'm dead'."

"You don't anymore?" Samantha looks at the steaming cup of tea and hopes she didn't make it too hot. The last thing she needs is for Shepard to think she isn't even capable of making tea. "I never much cared for that expression. I'd rather get a solid seven hours and wake to see another day."

"You want to see another day?"

"Don't you?"

Shepard touches the teacup. "Yeah." Her finger traces the rim.

"There's a lot to live for, Commander." Samantha waits to be told that she's presumptuous. Shepard is expressionless. Diana said Shepard survived Mindoir, survived Akuze, was reconstructed. What does Shepard have to live for? A military career? Expectations? No. There must be more than that. Someone like Shepard doesn't survive as long as she has by running on empty. "I know…maybe you don't want to hear this but… everyone's counting on you." Shepard's hands are swollen, smudged dark with bruises. Her chin is dotted much the same way. "Are you all right?"

Shepard flicks her eyes from the teacup to her.

Samantha continues. "It's just… in the shuttle bay… you seemed…" she doesn't know how to finish the sentence. Distracted? Shepard uncurls her fingers. There's blood caked beneath her short fingernails. Samantha has never been a soldier on the battlefield. She's never drawn blood. She could tell Shepard of some ill gotten nick, or a paper cut but bothering to mention it would be disingenuous, insulting. "Are you and Lieutenant Vega usually so aggressive?"

"Not usually." She rubs the back of her neck. "I got carried away."

"You…mentioned a hum?" Shepard takes a drink of tea, a small dismissive shake of her head her only response. "James has been a little cocky lately. Someone had to knock him down a few pegs." Shepard's lips twitch into a near smile. "You're our leader. Maybe it's good for morale for them to see you knock him down. He didn't stand a chance. You took down a Reaper, after all."

"It wasn't a fair contest."

"For the Reaper? No. Reapers die."

"So do I. A hell of a lot easier than a Reaper does." She sets the teacup down on the saucer violently, chipping the plate. Tea spills over. "People forget that."

Samantha's face heats. Shepard is like a volatile explosive. Samantha doesn't know how to hold her, how to even try. She isn't qualified. "I didn't mean—I'm sorry. I was trying to make light of things. I shouldn't—" she takes a breath and starts to rise. Shepard takes her arm tightly. Samantha looks at her and doesn't know how to tell her it hurts.

"Sit. Down." Shepard commands. Samantha does, slowly. Seconds pass, her grip doesn't soften. Shepard's eyes have flecks of red in them. "Do I scare you?"

"Yes."

Shepard holds her gaze, holds her arm. Then releases her. Shepard shoves her hands into her pocket and closes her eyes, leaning back again, exposing her neck. There's a scar trailing along her jawline and further down. "Is it my face?"

"Your face is beautiful." She says matter-of-factly but doesn't flush. Who on the Normandy isn't in love with Shepard? Samantha leans forward and watches her. She's bruised and tired looking. "You scare me because sometimes it doesn't look like you want to be here. On the Normandy. In this war."

"No one wants to be in this war. I've put it all on the line. Time after time. I keep outliving people." Her eyes open. "What do you know about me? You know about Akuze? About Mindoir?" Samantha only knows hazy details. None of them good. "You're a colony kid, too. Did you say that?"

"Yes." She clears her throat. "You saved Horizon. You saved my family." She bites her tongue. For months now she hasn't been sure of how she would thank Shepard—only knowing that thanks were owed. She didn't want to come off as a fan with a crush. "Thank you." There's a long quiet. "I've heard—I've read—" she clears her throat. "After you got the Normandy—I. I'd heard about you with the Collectors and Sovereign, of course. I never thought I'd be assigned to a ship with you. I did… a little reading." Now she's embarrassed. "On the extranet. Nothing in-depth."

"What'd you find? On the extranet?" Shepard's tone is a fusion of mocking and combative. Samantha doesn't respond. "Batarians killed everyone on Mindoir. My family. My friends. I was there for days. In this… colony of rot. The ground was red…paste. Mud. With their blood. My family's blood. Friends' blood. Spilled by slavers. I hid with the dead bodies… Like a coward."

Samantha can't imagine the horror. She wonders if she would have been as resourceful or if she would have gladly let the batarians claim her, too. "It was _smart_."

Shepard continues, her voice soft and far away, entrenched in memories. "I was covered in the muck. The sun dried it on me like… armor. The Alliance picked me up. They made me meet with a shrink and then they sent me off to biotic camp."

"How old were you?"

"Sixteen."

Her throat is dry. It's one thing to hear Shepard survived Mindoir. It's another to hear how she did it. What she saw, how she lived. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"I'm glad I saved your family on Horizon," she says flippantly.

Samantha feels guilty. "Not just them. I was there too."

There's a long beat. Samantha twines her fingers. Shepard watches her a long time. "Where are they now?"

"I don't know." She clears her throat. "They left London. Thank God. I haven't heard from them." Shepard nods absently. Samantha waits for assurances that don't come. "Do you have any other family?"

"No." She runs a hand through her hair. "I warned them when—when I decided to blow up the Bahak system. I meant to. I tried. Most of them died. An entire batarian system. But I didn't lose any sleep over it. They're almost gone now. What's left of them? Cannibals? Slavers and cannibals. And refugees." She rubs her eyes tiredly. "I should care. I don't care. This is who I am. The great Commander Shepard."

Samantha doesn't know what to say. Shepard was grounded for her actions, for half a year. It was a difficult situation, not one she'd want to be in. "You did what you could. No matter the anger or the end result… you did the right thing. You saved lives."

"You talk like a shrink. You a shrink?"

"No."

"Good. I hate shrinks. Used to have a yeoman who thought a bachelors in psych meant her opinions were worth a damn." Shepard lifts the teacup but it's empty. She sets it down and wipes her face. "The Reapers came through anyway. What did destroying an entire system do?"

"You delayed them."

"For all the good it did." She takes a breath, rubs her forehead again. "Do you ever have bad dreams?"

Samantha nods. "More than I'd like recently. But then I wake up and I remember where I am and that you're here. I remember everything's going to be all right."

"You believe that?"

"I believe in you."

* * *

"Specialist Traynor," Shepard says. Samantha turns to the voice. Shepard strides into Diana's room, stopping short of the camera and lights that instantly train on her. Samantha looks up to see Shepard's face reflected grainy-ly on a monitor above Diana's head. Shepard notices as well, her expression darkening. "EDI told me you might be here."

Diana shifts, pivoting to the side as if in anticipation of a picture being snapped. A hand settles on her hip, cocked to the side just so to accentuate the curves of her body. Samantha wishes she had the luxury of choosing her dress aboard the Normandy but that's what she gets for signing up with the Alliance. Diana hones in on Shepard. "If I'd known all it took to get Commander Shepard here was a visit from Samantha, I would have suggested it long ago."

Samantha crosses her arms gently. "Always happy to be your media pawn," she says lightly.

Diana reaches to the side, grabbing a nearby compact and popping it open, examining her reflection. She snaps it shut with finality. "Ready for your exclusive, Commander?"

"Be grateful you're still on this ship," Shepard steps close to her, "I saw the hack job you did on the medical supplies report. You run a story like that again without my say so and I'll leave your ass on whatever Reaper infested planet we hit next, is that clear?"

Diana squares her jaw, a tight smile pulling her lips upward. "I'll have to disagree with your assessment, Commander but it's your ship." She mutters a short, dry laugh and turns away from them, fiddling with some camera equipment.

Samantha looks between them awkwardly before looking at Shepard. She's heard the soldiers talk. Soldiers will always talk but Joker has known her for years. Samantha overheard him tell EDI that the commander's had a stick up her ass after being grounded. Shepard used to be more easygoing, always ready with a kind word. Her voice was softer. Is it true? Is it gossip? Samantha doesn't have anything to compare her behavior to.

"A word," Shepard says to Samantha, exiting the room without so much as another word or an apologetic look to Diana.

"Sorry," Samantha mutters to Diana. "You all right?"

"Don't worry, I'm used to bitchy celebrities."

"Commander Shepard isn't a celebrity."

"Who are you kidding? Go on, get out of here before she forgets you exist," she smiles faintly, waving her away. "But be sure to fill me in later."

"You've got it," Samantha reluctantly goes, not missing the hurt, swiftly being replaced by nonchalance on Diana's face. Shepard is standing in the hallway, looking down at the shuttle bay. Before Samantha can say anything, Shepard is on the move again, heading towards the engineering deck. Samantha isn't sure she should follow. Maybe Shepard's forgotten that she wanted to see her. But Shepard stops, looking, waiting, only moving again when Samantha does. She climbs down the clanky metallic stairs to the empty depths of the sub-deck of engineering and Samantha follows.

Shepard is awash in red light. Samantha grows nervous. This isn't the place a commanding officer has ever taken her to talk. The engines hum, vibrating against the steel walls. Is this what Shepard meant when she asked about the humming?

Shepard's hands settle in her pockets. She doesn't look at her. Samantha looks around. There's a table, a cot and some crates. It would probably be inappropriate to sit. Why is she here? "Congratulations, you have picked my least favorite place aboard the Normandy to have a conversation."

"This is the most private area." Shepard says indifferently. "I know you're friends with Diana Allers. Her profession is to be a loudmouth and go digging where she doesn't belong." Shepard faces her now. "So I'm going to count on your discretion."

"I'm not particularly sure what it is—"

"Have you told her about our conversation the other night?"

The conversation happened over a week ago and they haven't spoken since, Commander Shepard not even giving her a nod in passing. Samantha hadn't known what to make of the conversation, hadn't known how to address it, if to address it or assume it had never happened. "I assumed that was a private conversation." Shepard has returned her attention to the wall, leaving Samantha unsure as to why. Shepard is one of the most daring people to exist. She isn't shy nor does she lack in confidence. "I haven't told her or anyone. I won't."

"I said a lot of things that shouldn't have been said." She ducks her face minutely. "What was I thinking?"

Samantha listens to the humming. She isn't sure that Shepard said the last to her. Shepard stands several feet from her. Samantha takes three steps forward and stops. "Sometimes we say things we don't mean but we don't know it until we've said them aloud." Shepard still frowns. "You don't have to know everything all the time."

"You're wrong."

"You're not like us." Samantha says. Shepard lifts her head, looks at her sharply. Samantha freezes. "You're stronger," she croaks out. Every word she utters is like a landmine she's tripping over. "Have you slept?" Shepard moves closer. Samantha remains immobilized and cautious, unable to meet her eyes when Shepard is so close. Shepard's breath, warm, washes over her, comforting somehow in the cold of engineering.

"Look at me."

Samantha lifts her eyes though she isn't able to lift her face. It's hard to look away from Shepard, she isn't sure she wants to. She wonders what she fears: the repercussions of disobeying a direct order or Shepard herself. She's still debating it when Shepard withdraws and walks away.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry for the delays everyone! And thanks for the awesome reviews. You are all too kind! Oh yeah. This is an M-rated story. At least for this chapter.

* * *

Samantha's arms burn, muscles straining as she pulls herself up for the tenth chin-up. James laughs, whistles and gives her a pat on the ass for encouragement. "Looks like you've got some muscle in those skinny arms of yours!"

"Not…all…meat…heads…" she struggles, pulling herself up one more time. She'd love to get down and kick him in the balls but that would make climbing aboard the bar again that much more difficult. Her arms already feel like jell-o.

"You don't usually join me down here, Traynor," James says, his massive arms folded as he studies her, "Come to check out the gunshow?" She laughs dryly, pulling herself up for the eleventh chin-up, wanting to die, wondering why she joined the bloody Alliance at all. She wants to vomit everywhere. Chin-ups, pull-ups are just as nefarious as indoctrination. "You know, you're ruining Esteban's show," he says loudly enough for Steve to hear.

"The Kodiak's enough show for me," Steve calls back.

"Sorry," James grins over, "I couldn't hear you over the hole your eyes are burning into my ass."

Samantha wonders if they're sleeping together. Normally she'd ask, for play if nothing else, but she doesn't want to break her concentration and she doesn't know if she can stand Steve's puppy-dog eyes today. Her grip on the bar is loosening, her fingers gone sweaty on the cold metal.

"What's this?" Shepard asks James. Samantha nearly slips away from the bar at the sound of her voice. She holds herself by her fingertips before finding a solid hold again. When did Shepard show up? How long has she been watching? "You lose a bet? I could have sworn you planned this out every time so you were putting on a show whenever I came down here."

"Disappointed, Lola?" James smiles. Steve calls out a 'no'. Shepard smiles too. "Specialist Traynor wanted to show me up. She's doing the real thing, not the girly pull-ups."

"Girly pull-ups?" Shepard's voice is appropriately derisive. Samantha would smile if she had the energy. Instead she finds herself in a holding position. She has the strength to hold herself up but she isn't sure that she has enough of it to pull herself up one more time. Great. Of all the times for the commander to come down. Normally she'd call it quits but now… She realizes with some shame that she wants to impress Shepard, with something more than data, with something more like what Shepard does: a show of physical strength. "Come on, soldier," Shepard says, "show me what you've got."

Sweat runs down Samantha's face, she grits her jaw, pulls herself another half-inch. It's not enough. Her grip gives away and she falls. Shepard catches her, part of her, anyway, arm locked tightly around her waist for an instant. Shepard's body is solid muscle beneath the Alliance shirt that clings to her. Samantha looks at her face. She isn't sure how much time passes before Shepard lets her go. Samantha wipes at her forehead with the back of her arm.

"Good job, Slick," James tells her.

Great. Just what she needs. A new nickname. Shepard hears it. Samantha swears Shepard smirks. Samantha clears her throat and wipes her hands on her pant legs. "I did thirty before you got here," she tells Shepard, "if you can believe it."

"Mh, that would be _very_ impressive," Shepard tells her. For the first time since meeting her, her voice is playful, her eyes nearly dancing, "_if _I believed it." Her fingers wrap briefly around Samantha's upper arm, "and I don't."

"You can't tell by that alone," she protests.

"Sure I can," Shepard says flippantly. "It's a good thing you're here for your brains," she taps an index finger forcefully onto Samantha's forehead, "not your muscles."

Samantha rubs the sore spot delicately. "That bloody hurt, Commander. Not all of us are used to taking hits on the field like you are."

"Wimp."

"You wear a helmet," she points out. Shepard still seems unimpressed when Samantha flicks her finger as viciously as she can against Shepard's forehead. Shepard brings a hand to her forehead before stopping herself and scowling. "Who's the wimp now?" She shuffles when Shepard looks wearily at her. "Erm… well. Probably still me." She hopes she isn't flushing again. At least this time she'll have the excuse of physical regimen. "Was… there something you needed, Commander?"

"Nothing right now, _Slick_."

They watch her walk away. James laughs. Samantha waits until she's in the elevator before smacking him. He yowls. "What was that for?"

"That's for the nickname. _And_ the ass grab."

Was Commander Shepard looking for her? Or did she have something private to talk about with James or Steve? Goddamn it. If only she could have finished that last chin-up. If only she could have impressed Shepard.

* * *

The Normandy lights illuminate the memorial wall at night. Shepard stands in front of it, fingers stretched to touch the latest name plaque. Her shoulders, usually straight and strong are somewhat hunched.

Samantha glances at the wall. She recognizes a few of the names on the Memorial. Ashley Williams. Charles Pressly. Kelly Chambers. Kenneth Donnelly. Gabriella Daniels. Tarquin Victus. Mordin Solus. Thane Krios. She heard how the Collectors came onboard and took the crew; all of them but Chakwas were wiped out. She never knew Ashley, Pressly or Thane but she enjoyed talking with Mordin, briefly.

"Commander…" Samantha waits but Shepard is unresponsive. It's another late night. Their pattern has become to have interactions both pretend to never have had. Samantha can't remember the last time she had a good night's rest. Not since the Reaper War began. What about Shepard? How much worse must it be for her? When she sees Shepard aboard the Normandy with the other crewmembers or the squad, she's all smiles. Do they ever see her like this? Samantha tentatively lifts a hand to Shepard's shoulder.

Shepard rounds on her sharply, encompassed in a biotic glow that goes as far as her eyes. Samantha's back hits the memorial wall violently and she finds herself staring into Shepard's face, wild and desperate. A few of the name plaques clatter to the floor. Samantha apologizes silently to all those she's unwittingly disrespected. Shepard's hands settle tightly on her shoulders, digging deeply, painfully. The emotion drains from her face. She closes her eyes.

"I—ah, sorry, ma'am," Samantha breathes. "I didn't mean to—I shouldn't have startled you. We'll pick them up. It's all right. We'll pick them up." She lifts a hand to cup Shepard's face. Shepard's hair grazes along her hand, tickling. Her breathing comes much too fast.

* * *

"Udina was a son-of-a-bitch," Samantha sits next to Shepard on the port observation couch. Shepard's legs are stretched out, crossed at the ankles atop of the coffee table. "Working with Cerberus, causing the death of so many Citadel civilians. I don't understand how he did it. How he could do it."

"I did it."

"You stopped the Collectors when you joined Cerberus. You didn't create all this death and destruction. You stopped Udina. You saved the Council," Samantha smiles wryly, "again. It's becoming habit for you."

"Thane died to save the salarian councilor. He died to buy us time to stop Udina." She swears softly. "Kai Leng got away."

Samantha keeps from grimacing. "I know."

"I nearly shot Kaidan. My finger was on that trigger, squeezing." The scar along the curve of her temple burns brightly in the darkness. Shepard scratches it absently before rubbing her eyes again. "Ever since Cerberus rebuilt me everything feels… different. Miranda said she brought me back the way that I was." She shakes her head. "I had a scar, here," she traces along her eyebrow, "another here," another line across her chin. "They're gone now."

It would be pointless to point out all the other scars she still has. "You still carry the memories that gave you those scars, whether you have them or not."

"These things on my face aren't real. Memories fade by the day. I don't know if it's because so much is going on…so much has always been going on. Sometimes I don't know if I feel right… or… or if something happened with whatever Cerberus implanted in me. You've seen the technology they use. That Reaper tech. It turns people into monsters."

"You're not a monster."

"I find myself questioning…I'm uncertain about…" Shepard tenses her jaw. "Fuck."

Samantha turns on the couch to better face her. "It's okay."

"Garrus and Liara follow me around like I'm on the verge of mental collapse." Shepard looks at her. Samantha bites her tongue. Garrus and Liara know her well enough. If they're worried then there's likely good cause. Does she show strain to them? Or are they simply too well aware of the pressure she's under? "I killed a batarian terrorist today. Ghorek. I left Thane's deathbed and created another. When I blew that Alpha Relay it wiped Aratoht off the map. An entire colony, gone." She speaks emotionlessly. "He wanted revenge. Just like I wanted revenge for Mindoir. Maybe I could have warned the batarians before the relay blew. Maybe there was a way I didn't want to see."

"Commander… it's easy to drive yourself crazy. You've made difficult decisions. But you've been fair. You've been right."

"I keep losing people." Shepard takes a breath. "There's still a lot to do. The Crucible, whatever the hell the Catalyst is. The Reapers are wiping everything out." She rubs her eyes. "After Mindoir I lived for the Alliance. What the hell else was there to live for? Got through biotic school. Got through the N program. Didn't bother showing up for the N7 ceremony," she smiles wistfully, "Anderson still pisses and moans about dressing up for a no-show. Things were good. I was starting to forget Mindoir. I filled up enough of my life so…" There's a pause. "Then Akuze happened." Samantha covers Shepard's hand, curled tightly into a fist. Shepard doesn't' acknowledge the contact. "They sent me to a shrink and declared me unfit for duty. They thought I'd gone crazy. Thought I'd have to be after Mindoir. After Akuze. Then again after I blew that batarian star system. Maybe I had. Maybe I am. They keep making me talk to shrinks. They ground me and let me go. Fit for service." Her words are steady but her fist shakes. "I'm sorry I shoved you into that wall."

Samantha shakes her head, not wanting an apology. All the curiosity she'd ever had for Commander Shepard, all her questions have been answered and more. Who can live a life that way and be entirely sane? No one. No one but Commander Shepard.

"I won't say a word."

"That isn't—"

"I know."

"Did I hurt you?"

No. Has she said it? Samantha tries to control her fluttering heart. Shepard tucks a dark lock that has fallen loose behind her ear; warm fingers graze her cheek. "If you ever need someone to talk to… or listen—or if you ever fancy a game of chess," why did she say that? Why, oh why? Bloody nerves. Shepard's soft, airy strokes continue along her skin, eyes never leaving hers. Is there a shape in Shepard's eyes? Like the Illusive Man's eyes but not quite. She can't concentrate.

Why is it so difficult to think around her?

* * *

Shepard's wet shirt clings to her. Samantha is unsure of how this is happening. She was taking a shower in Shepard's cabin, the plan for the evening: a game of chess. It got foggy along the way. She wasn't expecting Shepard to join her. She knew she was crossing the line by showering in her commanding officer's quarters. And it isn't like she has any complaints. Regardless, she's surprised when Shepard enters the shower, turns her to face the wall, kisses along her neck and back, turning her once more to face her.

Samantha has no words. Hot water washes over them. They haven't kissed but Shepard trails kisses along her chest, down her stomach, sliding lower until she's kneeling before her, hands gingerly spreading Samantha's knees apart.

Samantha's heart batters into her rib cage, more so when Shepard kisses the inside of her thighs, hands gripping her until her mouth covers her center, hot tongue sliding along her, exploring, making Samantha's knees go weak.

She gasps. Some part of her wanted this to happen. Every part of her wanted it to. She hadn't allowed herself to imagine it. She never thought it would happen, nor that it could so quickly, right here, right now. She's just a specialist, trapped on the Normandy. And Commander Shepard, inarguably one of the most important figures in existence, is on her knees, mouth rendering Samantha incapable of thought.

Samantha buries a hand in Shepard's hair, tentatively, unable to stop her fingers from clutching more tightly when Shepard's tongue probes deeper, when her lips suck on her. Shepard holds her hips so tightly into place that Samantha is sure she'll bruise. She doesn't know why the thought excites her. It's nice to be wanted.

Another gasp. She swears once and then again. Shepard takes it as encouragement.

It takes everything she has for her legs to not buckle out under her. Somehow, she thinks, Shepard wouldn't let her.

* * *

"I really shouldn't be surprised that you're an unselfish lover, given that you're probably the most selfless person the universe has ever known," Samantha says. Her body still gleams from the shower, not having bothered to dry off or dress after the water had gone off. Her hands hook solidly into the waist of Shepard's pants, pushing her back to the bed, keeping herself steady.

"Are you trying to kiss my ass?"

"Not yet," she says lowly, going for sultry, aware she's being ridiculous.

Shepard smiles, as if vexed. "Be serious. Was that okay?"

"My still trembling knees would give you and your mouth a gold star," she slides her arms up, wrapping them carefully around Shepard's neck. "But something tells me that isn't what you're asking. I wasn't expecting to be seduced by my commanding officer, if that's what you mean. I wouldn't call out your name the way I just did if I minded."

Shepard allows a faint but not wholly convinced smile. "I've never fraternized."

"Never?" Samantha asks quizzically. "What about Kaidan? Or Garrus? Liara? James?" They all look at her as if they have fraternized or wanted to. Shepard shakes her head. Shepard who has told her such intensely private things of her past, of her thoughts that Samantha doesn't see why she'd lie about sleeping with crewmembers. "What a bad influence I am." Her hands trail down to Shepard's pants again, finding the belt, undoing it. She keeps her eyes on Shepard's as she pulls it away. Shepard's lips part. "Why me?" Samantha smiles bashfully. "Has it just been that long since you've had a leg over?"

"No. You?"

"I won't embarrass myself with specifics." It's been too long since she'd had a girlfriend. It's hard to meet them in the labs and when the galaxy is on the brink of war. Samantha drops the belt, the buckle clacking loudly on the floor. She tugs Shepard's shirt from her pants. "Well, aren't you going to tell me?"

"These scars don't stop at my face." There's a beat. She shakes her head. "That isn't why I haven't…" Samantha pushes the hair back from Shepard's face, wanting to look at her. "I haven't—since I was brought back."

"You're not out of practice, if that's what you're worried about."

Shepard ducks her face, shakes her head, smiles. "You make it damn hard to be serious."

Samantha takes hold of her chin, lifts it. "That's not a bad thing. We've got enough serious going around, wouldn't you say? And you could stand to smile more." She pulls the shirt up. Shepard lifts her arms. Samantha peels the shirt away and throws it aside. It falls with a wet splat in the corner. "Mh, romantic." Shepard laughs softly. Samantha lights a hand to the back of Shepard's neck, drawing her close, pressing a kiss to her damp flesh. It's lined, scarred, glowing. Should she be bothered? She isn't bothered. "We're insomniacs. Let's take advantage."

"You're a hard woman to say 'no' to."

"Then don't," she says. They lean into one another. Samantha turns her head before their lips connect.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing." A beat. She shakes her head. "Are you going to make me pretend this never happened? There are some things I can do that with. This isn't one of them." She bites the inside of her lip. Can she serve aboard the Normandy pretending Shepard is nothing to her? Or knowing that she is nothing to Shepard? So much for throwing caution to the wind and reveling in what could be her last few weeks of existence. "I probably should have thought this out."

"Games are the last thing I need. I probably should have told you that before I invited you up for chess." Zig zags course through her skin like a diagram. Shepard laces their hands. "What I need is something real. And tangible. I thought I could get by all of this on my own. But—"

Samantha kisses her. She tastes herself, Shepard, on her lips.

* * *

"Have you forgotten there's a Reaper War going on?" Diana asks.

Samantha reclines against the massive, plushy pillows of Diana's bed. She lowers the magazine she reads. Diana has been hacking away at a laptop for hours. "The constant paralyzing fear makes it difficult to forget. As do your news reports."

"You've been humming."

"Have I?"

Diana turns away from the laptop. "You know full well you have." She stands, hands on her hips, sashaying, in her usual way, over to Samantha before stopping and crossing her arms. Diana always moves as if she were reporting on scene. "You've been spending time with Shepard." Samantha frowns. "I know she's some unstoppable hero but she's a pain in the ass. Do you have _anything_ on her I can use?"

Samantha purses her lips. "No." She says eventually. "Commander Shepard and I are—I'm the communications specialist and she's Commander Shepard," she stammers. "That's all."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I'm not!" She is. "We talk," that part is true. It's mostly true. What has been most significant between them, their lengthy, probing conversations. Everything else is secondary. Glorious, but secondary. "But there's nothing more."

"EDI mentioned you left her cabin at irregular hours last week?"

EDI! Liara isn't the only one to grumble about the nosy but lustily voiced AI. "EDI doesn't know what she's talking about."

"An incorrect assertion," EDI's voice comes over the speaker. Samantha scowls and looks up to where she knows the cameras are, hoping EDI will be able to read her expression and promptly drop the subject. "However, given the crews erratic sleeping schedules and work demands, irregular hours have become quite common."

Samantha is grateful for the breathing room but Diana's eyes remain suspiciously on her. She doesn't want to tell Diana about Shepard. What they have between them is something she wants to keep for herself. Shepard's confidence and trust are not something she would breach.

Sometimes it seems as if Shepard is hanging on by a thread.

* * *

"Sorry, what?"

Samantha looks at Shepard. During the late nights when she can't sleep she makes visits to the commander's quarters when most of the crew has turned in. Shepard is always awake. She smiles tiredly, perhaps gratefully, stepping aside. They usually talk but Shepard's been quieter than usual, distracted. "Hm?"

"What did you say?"

"I didn't say anything." Samantha says. Shepard sits at her desk, the orange light of the monitor washing over her. Samantha goes to her, running her fingers lightly through her hair, trying to peer at her face, swathed in shadows. "You all right?"

"Yeah." She massages her forehead absently. "Just a headache."

"Have you taken anything for it?" She asks. Shepard nods wearily. "You _need_ rest."

"I can't. I try but I can't. I can't shut my brain off."

Samantha drapes her arms around her shoulders, resting her chin on Shepard's shoulder. Shepard touches her arm absently. Samantha worries.


End file.
